


Equilateral Triangle

by ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Smooching, Threesome - M/M/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: So much for picking sides.





	Equilateral Triangle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/gifts).



After all these years the oddness of our arrangement can still strike me with a shiver of - almost fear. I would not, however, go so far as to say supernatural dread. Not anymore. I confess, there was a time when I expected to have my happiness snatched away. I had never, after all,  expected to be happy. It was that, the fact of my happiness rather than our unusual triad, which struck me then with a sense of the unnatural. Now my occasional anxiety is just that - occasional. It is more a bad habit than a fear, and one that I increasingly ignore.

 

I am happy; if it seems unmerited, who am I to complain? Happiness has nothing to do with ‘just desserts’ or karma, or whatever other system one tries to impose on experience to make sense of it. You don't earn happiness. I didn't, anyway. I have simply been very lucky. We all have.

 

Very lucky indeed. We had never hitherto been fortunate men. We all bear scars. I never expected us to end up together like this. Never expected us to heal each other like this. My Rays never expected it either. Unlike me, they don't question their luck, or if they do they do not voice it.

 

They both, or so they tell me, harboured hopes that they might individually end up with me: ‘Like I could ever shake you, Benny.’

 

‘Huh, like he could ever shake _me_.’

 

‘Oh, yeah, Stalking Stanley, that’s an attractive look on a guy.’

 

‘You’re just jealous I’m not stalking you.’

 

‘What about that time when -’

 

‘Hey! That doesn’t count!’

 

‘I was working!’

 

‘Yeah, well don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself.’

 

‘Do you know, before I met you guys a supply closet was just a supply closet.’

 

‘A closet is never just a closet.’

 

And on, and on, and when did my world get so full of cheerful banter and teasing? My Rays have teased the loneliness right out of me.

 

Right now, there is no banter; no loneliness either. I have just awakened in a sleepy tangle of limbs. One of their hands rests on my belly, another is curled higher on my chest. I look down at the fair hand, dusted with golden hair, hovering by my clavicle. The darker hand, equally elegant and long-fingered, is low enough that if it drifts it might... well. My cheeks redden and I suppress a giggle. Fortunately, I am not as young as I was, or I would be in a real pickle. I really _do_ need to use the facilities.

 

As soon as I can be bothered to move.

 

My right cheek and nose are being tickled by Ray’s golden hair. It is shorter these days, its highlights less brazen, but he still teases it into a defiant corona of prickly spikes each morning. At this hour it is not quite so ebullient as usual, though it still bears traces of Ray's favoured brand of hair gel. I inhale the scent. It is peculiar, chemical, not at all like the ‘woodland pine’ it claims to be. It’s not unpleasant, just... indescribable. However often I fail to describe it, the smell means ‘Ray’ to me, Ray Kowalski, evoking his fragility, artifice and courage. I love it.

 

I watch as the slowly rising sun touches the threads of gold - yes, some silver in there now, even with the attentions of the hairdresser. My breath gusts Ray’s ‘bed head.’ He grumbles in his sleep and pouts, burrows his face around until his nose is practically in my armpit. I try hard not to laugh. He reminds me of a baby porcupine, not that I would ever tell him that. I drop a kiss on the feather tips of his hair. I don’t feel like waking up yet, not properly. It’s nice to lie here, lazy and replete - complete.

 

Yes, complete. I turn my head to the left, where Ray Vecchio sleeps. These days he is, as he is proud to announce, ‘bald as an egg.’ I conform my hand to the shape of his head and stroke, very gently, along the tender curve of his skull. Not entirely bald, of course. There is a buzz of bristles, softer than his five o’clock shadow, just as electric to the touch. His face is utterly relaxed in sleep as he leans back, unconsciously, against my hand. I hold my breath for a moment, but he doesn’t wake. Some mornings, after a bad night, it makes my heart clench to see him rise from sleep, his eyes expressive and vulnerable for a moment before the visor slams down.

 

Not every morning, of course. These mornings he tends to awaken with uncomplicated happiness and smile his eloquent smile. Most people wouldn’t see the difference, of course, but then most people don’t know him as well as I do.

 

Ray assured us once that he considers himself lucky. ‘Lucky?’ Ray Kowalski’s voice was incredulous, and he pointed at Ray’s chest, a little too vigorously, accidentally glancing against old scar tissue. He winced, but Ray just laughed and shrugged it off, repeating his assertion that he was ‘lucky.’

 

‘In what way?’ I asked, not certain where Ray Vecchio was coming from.

 

Ray Kowalski flashed a quick smile at me, then turned his attention back to Ray. ‘What he said.’  He jerked a thumb in my general direction. ‘This some new meaning of ‘lucky’ that all the kids are using? Some kind of gang slang? Like it really means ‘I get shot at and all my suits get ruined on a regular basis and I’m stuck with two guys who set my last car on fire before they drowned it?’

 

‘Actually, that did kind of suck...’ Ray looked moody for a moment, then shook it off. ‘No, I mean it. I’m lucky. Even if you do owe me a car. Most people don’t even get one person who sees them like you guys see me. Seriously, I got you two.’ He grinned as he said it. ‘That should probably scare the shit out of me but -’ he shrugged - ‘it’s a good thing I don’t scare easy.’  

 

That is true, these days. He rarely has Vegas nightmares anymore, and when one starts either Ray or I are awake in time to stop it. We don’t even have to wake him. It just takes our voice or voices. Sometimes he just needs to be held.

 

We all need that, don’t we? To be held. We three, we do that for each other; we hold each other, touch each other - a thumb reaching out from another's hand to stroke my eyebrow, my fingers in their mouths, strong hands kneading my shoulders as below them another pair of hands squeezes and works out the tension in my back, buttock, thighs. I love their four hands as they caress me -

 

Happy as I am in this moment, though, the fact of being held has some temporary disadvantages. My bladder is beginning to assert itself, and if I continue to lie here so will my incipient erection. I need to extract myself, briefly, before the one bodily need makes the other uncomfortable. Stifling a sigh, I perform a slow, wriggling manoeuvre, long perfected after years of practice, and manage to slide out from between my two partners without waking either of them. Upon my return from the bathroom, I notice that they have rolled together, into the warm space my body left between them.

 

I stand for a moment, debating my options. Do I bound back into bed, waking them both and starting a tussle for dominance and vengeance, possibly involving pillow fighting as a form of foreplay? Do I slip in quietly under the sheets, and if so, on which side? One of my Rays will end up in the middle. I try to remember who was last the ‘meat’ in our sandwich, then chide myself for an incredibly crude metaphor. Also, I should know by now that keeping score is not necessary. Pick a side already...

 

Once, a long time ago, Ray Kowalski said that to me. ‘Pick a side already.’ At the time I had honestly feared losing them both because I could choose neither. Ray threw the words out, whether in challenge or surrender I’ll never know. His fists clenched and his voice cracked as he repeated his demand to ‘pick a goddam side.’ His eyes were bright and brittle, too cold and scared to spill over. I could have cut myself on their ice.

 

‘Why?’

 

That was not my voice. I had thought the word, but not spoken. I would not have known what to say next. I simply couldn’t frame the next thought, could not voice that first syllable - and yet there it was, already in the room.

 

Ray Vecchio was speaking. ‘Why pick a side?’ Ray Kowalski and I turned to stare at him. There he was, leaning in the doorway, eyebrows raised in an aristocratic arc, radiating an air of amused insouciance that almost completely disguised his own anxiety.

 

‘Who’s making him choose? I’m not making him choose.’ His eyes were as shuttered as they had ever been, a dark and ominous green. ‘No reason we can’t play nice. We’re all grown-ups, sort of.’ He looked at me, then Ray, and his tongue flicked out over his lower lip; his Adam's Apple moved in his throat. His voice betrayed no fear as he said, ‘Why not share?’

 

I think it was the fear that did it though. Ray sounded cool, but that bob in his throat, that flash of tongue, were tells - and both my Rays can read another gambler. Ray Kowalski is as astute as any detective I have ever met, and he could see exactly what Ray was afraid of saying. _I'm scared. I want you both. Here are all my cards on the table._

 

And well - that was the most important conversation of my adult life, and I honestly can’t remember most of it. It didn’t involve quite as much shouting and brawling as I would have expected and it certainly resulted in far more kissing and related activities than anyone could have reasonably predicted.

 

I do remember, in the vivid colour of a fevered Van Gogh, Ray striding across the room and taking Ray Vecchio's face in both hands.

 

'So share,’ he said and kissed Ray right on the lips. Ray moaned in his throat, his smooth persona forgotten, and one hand reached out blindly for mine. I seized it and we all froze, somehow short-circuited. They broke from the kiss and turned to me in unison. They had the same wide-eyed, bewildered expression that I no doubt shared. What were we doing? And then the terrified moment broke and they were hauling me into their embrace; we were all kissing, fumbling and confused and trembling with arousal, panic and relief.

 

So much for picking sides.

 

I smile and sit at the foot of the bed, watching as my Rays snuggle up together. Unlike that first reaching out, there is no anger or challenge, despite their peculiar use of pet names. Ray Vecchio's eyes open first, halfway, and he smiles, lazily. ‘Hey, Stanley.’ His hand caresses Ray's chin and strokes it. I can hear the scritch of stubble from here.

 

‘Fuck you, Big Bird.’ The words are muffled and friendly. I could have heard the smile in them, even if I had not seen that Ray Kowalski was, in fact, smiling.

 

‘Well, that escalated fast.’ Ray chuckles as he presses his lips to Ray's mouth. I watch as the kiss deepens, and feel myself stir. My Rays sleep naked; I am clothed, but only in boxers, and I glance down to see myself rise to the occasion. I grin and look back up to see my partners pressed up hard against each others bodies. The sheet has fallen back, and I can see them from their hips up, moving against each other, their hands stroking each other's sides. Olive skin on gold, blue smiling into green, sinew and strength equally matched. Their rocking motion is becoming more urgent and my mouth is dry, my heart rate accelerating. Their lips break away from each other, and Ray Vecchio arches. His groan is guttural, vibrating in his chest, and his eyes squeeze shut. He doesn't climax, although his knuckles are becoming white. Ray Kowalski laughs - I know that laugh. It is the one that says _I see a challenge, and I am going to best it._ He knows that Ray is trying to hold on, and it is now his mission to drive the poor man mad. I swallow and both Rays hear it. Ray Vecchio's eyes snap open and he stares at me, open-mouthed and panting. Ray Kowalski looks over his shoulder at me and gives a sultry smile.

 

‘Benny...’ Ray gasps and bucks up. The sheet slides still further and I can see everything now. I can see where Ray Kowalski holds Ray Vecchio, I can see where Ray Vecchio allows himself to be held. I see the fist into which he thrusts, can see the trust inherent in that, letting himself be gripped where he is most vulnerable, most private.

 

And I see myself in this picture too. I see how my Rays look at me, both of them. I see the flicker of feelings flitting across their faces, the deeper tides of emotion underneath. They make space for me in this act, in this moment, as I make space for them. We are three sides of one triangle. Without each other we are weak, together we are strong. It is just that simple, and just that strange.

 

‘Benny,’ Ray writhes on the sheet, pleading, and Ray Kowalski tightens his stroke, lowers his head to lick. He pauses, smiles wickedly again.

 

‘Yeah, Benton Buddy. Share.’

 

I feel my heart expand as a smile breaks over my face. Each time we do this it feels as though we will all shatter. And each time we shatter we put each other back together again.

 

I crawl up the bed to kiss them. _Share._

 

I do, they do, we do.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Mekare - you are a gift to the fandom, and it was a privilege to write for you. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing for you. Seriously, thank you.
> 
> Verushka, thank you so much for a speedy last minute beta and your keen eye for detail. It goes without saying that remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> May you both (and all dueSers) have a very happy Christmas and New Year. I will see you all in the fandom in 2019.


End file.
